


see you around, flower boy

by lieu42



Category: Detective Comics (Comics), Red Robin (Comics), Teen Titans (Comics), Teen Titans - All Media Types, Young Justice (Comics), Young Justice - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2020-09-29 14:20:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20437457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lieu42/pseuds/lieu42
Summary: the tattoo parlour/flower shop au you've all been waiting for. conner kent, resident flower boy, notices a new guy at the tattoo parlour across the street. luckily, due to unfortunate weather and gotham still being a nightmare city, their paths will cross a whole bunch.





	1. part one

**Author's Note:**

> this might seem a little ooc against some of my other fics because they're a lot more open about their feelings, but that's usually because they're such close friends already.
> 
> also this isn't really a chapter fic, mostly a longer oneshot in 2 parts because I write at snail speed very sorry

Conner doesn’t believe in love at first sight, but damn, there’s something about that boy.** **  
** **

He must be one of the employees in the tattoo shop. It’s only across the street, and Ma’s always complaining about it. Ruins the business for their flower shop, she says, all their motorbike fumes making the flowers wilt. Personally, Conner thinks it’s cool. He wouldn’t mind working there himself, but the fact is that his artistic calling is definitely flower arranging and nothing more.** **  
** **

The boy’s sat on the wall outside the tattoo shop, dark bangs in his eyes, looking at his phone. He’s small, probably a head shorter than Conner, but his skinny jeans show off lean, defined muscle. There’s something in the way he holds himself - straight back, shoulders relaxed and squared - that Conner finds very attractive. Despite wearing the usual all black, he’s a world away from the usual tattoo shop employees.** **  
** **

‘See something you like?’ says Ma, bumbling towards Conner with an armful of flowers. Conner spins round, flushed. He must’ve been staring.** **  
** **

‘There’s a new guy at the tattoo place, that’s all,’ he says, rubbing the back of his neck.** **  
** **

‘And that display isn’t going to do itself. You can go propose to him once we’ve sent off the subscriptions for today.’** **  
** **

Conner turns back to the window, face burning. The boy is gone.** **  
** **

*

** **

Conner doesn’t see him again for easily a week, long enough to make him wonder if he was even there to start with. Maybe he’s not an employee after all, maybe a friend or a customer. Conner hugely regrets not going to talk to him straight away. It’s easier to just concentrate on his work, though, so he keeps arranging bouquet after bouquet and passing them to Ma to fix and wrap. It’s so easy to lose himself in his work that he almost forgets about the boy.

** **

*

** **

‘I’m going to head off,’ says Ma, hugging Conner tightly and grabbing her coat.** **  
** **

‘What? It’s only six, isn’t it?’ Conner checks his watch. It’s probably stopped again.** **  
** **

‘Something’s happened in Gotham, _ again _ , and all the trains are down. The Metropolis trains are still going, for now, but I’m sure they’ll be stopped within the hour, and I’m going to try and drive back to Smallville before the traffic is too bad.’ ** **  
** **

‘Oh. Fair enough. Safe journey, Ma. And tell Clark and Jon I’m okay.’** **  
** **

‘And Lois?’** **  
** **

‘If you want, sure.’** **  
** **

Ma sighs, grabbing her keys. She turns on her way out, calling, ‘Don’t feel you have to stay open till eight, okay? Our later customers will manage. You’re fine shutting up shop by yourself, aren’t you?’** **  
** **

‘Yes, Ma. I’m fine.’** **  
** **

The door jingles shut and he relaxes back into a chair, grabbing his phone. A city-wide hostage situation in Gotham, he discovers. The GCPD will have it under control in an hour or so, but until then it’ll be carnage. It’s a good job his apartment is in walking distance of the flower shop. Rent’s expensive, being in Metropolis, but it’s better than trying to battle the public transport system every day.** **  
** **

It’s raining, he realises. Proper torrential rain, pounding almost horizontally against the shop front.** **  
** **

He sprints out into the rain, hoping none of the outdoor display stuff is in too much of a state. He scoops up the chalkboard and as many pot plants as he can carry, and then he hears a voice behind him.** **  
** **

‘Fucking -’** **  
** **

It’s the boy from the tattoo shop, sat on the same wall, eyes wide.** **  
** **

‘Shit,’ he says. ‘Sorry. You scared me.’** **  
** **

Conner feels a pot plant sliding out of his hands, and puts it down before he drops it.** **  
** **

‘How long have you been out here?’ Conner asks. It must’ve only been raining for a few minutes but the boy is soaked, rain running through his hair and down his jacket in rivulets.** **  
** **

‘Don’t know. I’m waiting for trains to be available again.’** **  
** **

‘You could go now, if you’re quick. There’s a couple of Metropolis lines still running.’** **  
** **

‘Thanks, but I live in Gotham.’ The boy smiles.** **  
** **

‘Why do you work in Metropolis, then? I mean, if you don’t mind me asking -’** **  
** **

The boy shrugs. ‘It’s my brother’s place. I just help out here part-time. Anyway, do you work in the flower shop? I didn’t think people younger than seventy were allowed to do that.’** **  
** **

‘My grandma mostly runs it. But I - I’m pretty good at arranging flowers, so it’s a pretty solid way to make some money.’** **  
** **

The boy blinks at him, leaning back on the wall and swinging his legs. ‘Well, nice talking to you, flower boy, but your display’s getting fucked so you might want to attend to that.’** **  
** **

‘Oh. Crap.’ Conner tries to grab another plant pot but it slips out of his hands, but then suddenly the boy is there right beside him. He catches the pot and brings it in, then starts helping Conner dismantle the display. It’s much quicker with two people, and soon they’re both standing in the doorway, dripping water on the floor.** **  
** **

‘Wow,’ says the boy, grinning. ‘That was an adventure. See you around then, flower boy.’** **  
** **

He heads back out of the shop, but before Conner knows what he’s doing he’s grabbed the boy’s wrist.** **  
** **

‘Wait,’ he says. ‘Where are you going?’** **  
** **

‘To get a drink, probably.’** **  
** **

‘You’re soaked,’ says Conner. ‘Seriously, I’m not shutting up shop yet. You can come in, it’s fine. You’ll catch your death in this weather.’** **  
** **

‘Thanks, Mom.’** **  
** **

‘Jesus christ, I am _ not _ the mom friend -’ ** **  
** **

But Conner’s grinning and the boy is too.** **  
** **

‘Thanks, flower boy,’ the boy says after a moment passes, ‘but I’m fine, really. The trains will be going soon anyway, I’m sure.’** **  
** **

Conner realises he’s still holding the boy’s wrist. He lets go, gently. ‘Just for a while,’ he says. ‘I mean, you don’t have to, but just until the rain eases off a bit. Aren’t you cold?’** **  
** **

‘A bit, yeah,’ says the boy. ‘The rain’s getting into your shop, by the way.’** **  
** **

He pulls the door shut, and then it’s just the two of them stood in the shop, dripping wet and grinning.** **  
** **

‘So you’re staying?’ says Conner.

‘For a little while, if that’s okay,’ says the boy. ‘I’m Tim, since you didn’t ask.’** **  
** **

‘You don’t look like a Tim,’ says Conner.** **  
** **

‘I don’t see many six-foot-two guys working in flower shops much either, but go off.’** **  
** **

There is a pause. ‘I’m Conner,’ says Conner, finally.** **  
** **

‘Hey, Conner.’ Tim smiles, and Conner actually feels his heart flutter. Holy shit.

** **

*

** **

‘Trains are going back up soon,’ says Tim, glancing over at Conner. Conner’s making a start at prepping the subscriptions and delivery orders for the next day, which is unnecessary work but makes him look busy so Tim won’t think he just does nothing all day.** **  
** **

‘That’s good,’ says Conner, lying. Tim’s only just got here, and he’s been tucked up in a chair the whole time staying out of Conner’s way. They’ve barely even spoken. Which is pretty disappointing, since Conner’s gone to all this trouble to meet him.

‘Yeah. I can get one at seven forty-five.’** **  
** **

‘That’s ages, though,’ says Conner, silently cheering. ‘It’s barely half six. Do you want something to eat? Can I get you anything?’** **  
** **

‘I’ll eat when I get back. But thanks, though.’** **  
** **

Conner stands up, brushing pollen off his jeans. ‘A coffee, then?’** **  
** **

‘I wouldn’t mind a coffee.’ Tim smiles. ** **  
** **

(Conner would honestly do anything for that smile.)

** **

*

** **

Tim follows Conner into the tiny kitchen at the back of the shop, crammed with cleaning supplies and spare equipment. He leans against a fraction of bare counter and still manages to look attractive somehow.** **  
** **

Conner puts the kettle on and hopes he won’t have to make small talk.** **  
** **

‘You don’t have a coffee machine?’ says Tim.** **  
** **

‘I don’t drink coffee.’** **  
** **

‘I’m just going to pretend you didn’t say that and go from there.’** **  
** **

‘Coffee’s bad for you, anyway,’ says Conner, rummaging for instant coffee grounds.** **  
** **

Tim raises an eyebrow. ‘What, being productive is bad for you?’** **  
** **

‘It ruins your teeth.’** **  
** **

‘I’m not an all-American blue-eyed hunk, so I don’t exactly need dazzling teeth.’** **  
** **

Conner is not sure if that’s a compliment. He’s also not sure if Tim is stereotyping him or if he has actually noticed his eye colour. (Tim has very blue eyes himself, too. The kind of blue that doesn’t quite look real, the sort that only rich Gotham socialite types have.)** **  
** **

‘I bet your sleep schedule is whacked,’ he offers.** **  
** **

Tim sighs. ‘My sleep schedule was whacked before I started drinking coffee.’** **  
** **

‘Which was when, a month ago? Two? I thought you weren’t allowed caffeine until you’re sixteen.’ Conner’s surprised at how well conversation flows between them. Turns out Tim isn’t the sulky and silent type at all.** **  
** **

‘Funny. I’m twenty-one, so maybe I should move onto whiskey.’** **  
** **

‘You’d have to measure units with medicine spoons so you don’t get drunk. More than three tablespoons of alcohol, I reckon, and you’d have headaches for weeks.’** **  
** **

‘You’re giving me headaches for weeks,’ Tim says, grinning. ‘And I bet you’re a total lightweight yourself. The really big guys always are.’** **  
** **

‘I don’t even drink.’ (This is mostly because Tim is absolutely right. Conner’s had enough brutal hangovers to put him off alcohol for life.)** **  
** **

‘Wow, bet you’re fun at parties.’** **  
** **

‘I _ am _ fun at parties.’ ** **  
** **

‘See, it’s always the guys who say they’re fun at parties -’** **  
** **

‘Are _ you _ fun at parties, then?’ ** **  
** **

Tim raises one eyebrow, one corner of his mouth hitched up in a half-smile. ‘If you like.’** **  
** **

Conner turns back to the kettle, face burning. _ Fuck _ . He pours Tim’s coffee and his own tea, trying not to let his hands shake. ** **  
** **

‘You take milk?’ he says, hoping the drastic subject change isn’t too obvious.** **  
** **

‘Yeah. No sugar.’** **  
** **

Conner hands Tim the drink, waiting for him to take a sip.** **  
** **

‘Is it alright?’ he says.** **  
** **

‘Tastes like shit, but I appreciate the sentiment.’ Tim smiles and takes another sip. ‘And I think I’ve burned the top of my tongue off, but at least I can’t taste this anymore. Seriously, get you a coffee machine.’** **  
** **

‘Why would I spend a couple hundred on a coffee machine when nobody who works in this shop even drinks coffee?’** **  
** **

‘I’d come round for coffee, then. It’s closer than Starbucks. Help you get your money’s worth.’** **  
** **

Tim really shouldn’t have encouraged him, because now Conner is genuinely considering getting a coffee machine.** **  
** **

‘Anyway, can we go back into the shop?’ says Tim, looking over his shoulder. ‘It’s freezing back here.’** **  
** **

‘It’s really not,’ says Conner. He’s only in a flannel shirt and jeans, whereas Tim’s wearing a denim jacket. ‘Your circulation must be fucked.’** **  
** **

‘No, it’s just cold out here,’ says Tim. Conner sees him shiver, then he realises.** **  
** **

‘You idiot,’ he says. ‘Why were you sitting out in the rain for so long? Take your jacket off.’** **  
** **

‘Wow, moving a little fast,’ Tim smirks, but he slips his arms out of the jacket. Conner takes it, feeling the shoulders. It’s soaked through, and he can see Tim’s t-shirt is damp too. He must not have noticed because of the black fabric.** **  
** **

‘There must be some clothes in the store cupboard you can borrow,’ he says.** **  
** **

‘Yeah, I’m sure your grandma will lend me some. Isn’t this the store cupboard?’ Tim glances round the kitchen at the random equipment spilling everywhere.** **  
** **

‘My grandma wants us to be prepared for literally any disaster that could potentially hit this place, so there's even more storage out back.’** **  
** **

‘Oh no, the flowers have wilted. Call 911.’** **  
** **

‘Shut up,’ says Conner, ‘and follow me.’

** **

*

** **

The store cupboard is even more cramped than the kitchen, stuff in various cardboard boxes spilling everywhere and covering the floor. There’s barely enough space for the two of them in there. Conner has to climb the most unstable-looking shelf unit he’s ever seen in order to grab the couple of t-shirts he has hanging on a hook along with his own jacket.** **  
** **

He holds them up, handing the smallest one to Tim. ‘Try this.’** **  
** **

‘Thanks.’** **  
** **

Conner had expected Tim to ask him to leave, but Tim’s peeled his shirt off before Conner can even turn away. And then Conner can’t help looking.** **  
** **

He doesn’t have the standard washboard-abs idea of strength, but there’s barely a scrap of fat on him - he’s all lean muscle, cut and defined. He must work out a _ lot, _ probably more than Conner. He looks incredibly strong for a guy of his size. ** **  
** **

‘Like what you see?’ says Tim, pulling the shirt on.** **  
** **

‘It’s too big for you, but it suits the all-black aesthetic.’ The shirt is almost down to Tim’s knees. Conner hadn’t noticed him being that much smaller than him.** **  
** **

‘Oh yeah, sure, _ that’s _ what you were looking at -’ ** **  
** **

‘Fuck off,’ says Conner. Tim pulls a face.

** **

*

** **

‘Holy shit, it’s already half seven!’ Tim stands up quickly, brushing a few stray petals off his shirt. He’s been helping Conner trim flowers for what has seemed like minutes, but must’ve been far longer. Conner’s barely noticed time slip by, filled with work and occasional light conversation. Tim’s surprisingly good at flower work, but then it’s probably not an entirely different skill set to tattooing.** **  
** **

‘When’s your train?’ says Conner, putting down a handful of flowers.** **  
** **

‘Soon. Fuck. This has been really nice and I’m sorry I ended up staying so long and thanks for the shirt and the coffee, but I really have to go now.’ He grabs Conner in a hug so quickly that Conner’s barely aware it’s happening, then grins and runs for the door.** **  
** **

The jingle of the doorbell on his way out seems to last longer than usual. Conner realises he doesn’t even have Tim’s number.** **  
** **

‘That was an adventure,’ he says to nobody, blinking in wonder. Maybe he’s dreamed the whole thing. He wouldn’t be surprised.** **  
** **

But Tim’s jacket is still draped across the back of a chair, and Conner can still smell whatever expensive cologne he uses.** **  
** **

He picks the jacket up. That’s an excuse to see Tim again, he supposes.

He can't help but smile.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm breaking this up into three chapters because the last part got really long. in this part, basically nothing happens but I hope you all enjoy it anyway

It’s been two weeks now. Two weeks of stolen glances across the street every two seconds from Conner, two weeks of Ma complaining about him being distracted, two weeks of running over everything that happened, two weeks of only seeing Tim about twice. He’d smiled both times, but then one of the other guys would always come out of the shop and call him back in and Conner would be left wondering if anything really happened.

So when Tim just appears in the shop one night, smiling and taking a seat in one of the chairs, Conner can’t deny he’s surprised.

‘Hey, flower boy,’ Tim says, taking off his jacket and tossing it onto the floor. ‘Can I chill here for like an hour? Or however long it is before you close.’

‘I guess,’ says Conner, trying to keep a smile off his face. ‘Trains down again?’

‘Yep. Some bloke with a massive nose has gotten hold of a shedload of explosives and weaponised half of Gotham. The GCPD got him to piss off, but there’s still a bunch of dormant fireworks and stuff in the subway system just waiting to go off, so that’s got everything in and out of Gotham down. And I called Jason, but the family helicopter’s in use.’ He pulls a face. Conner can’t help but laugh.

‘Is Jason your brother?’ he says.

‘One of them, yeah. I have way too many siblings.’

‘I’ve just got the one,’ says Conner, trying to focus on tying flowers simultaneously holding a conversation. It’s surprisingly difficult. ‘Jon. He’s sixteen now. Absolutely obsessed with cars.’

‘Your parents trying to give you rhyming names? Kon and Jon. Is it short for Jonner?’

‘Probably,’ says Conner, grinning. ‘How many brothers do you have?’

‘Three. I’m a middle child. Dick’s the oldest, and Jason’s older than me as well, and Damian must be about the age of your Jon. He had the car phase, too.’

‘We should get them together. I’m sure they’d get along.’

Tim shakes his head. ‘I have never known Damian willingly get on with anyone.’

‘He a bit awkward?’

‘No, he’s just a common-or-garden nightmare.’

Conner smiles. Tim yawns and leans back further into the chair. His hair is messier than it was before, dark bangs falling into his eyes in a strangely attractive way. 

‘Where are you crashing tonight?’ Conner says, fixing the last bundle of flowers and placing them carefully into the indoor display. Tim doesn’t say anything, but Conner can feel his eyes following his hands as he dusts off his jeans.

‘Hotel, probably,’ says Tim, stifling another yawn.

‘That must get expensive quick,’ says Conner, somewhat jealous. There’s no way he could afford to stay in hotels in Metropolis just for a random night. He’d probably just not sleep. Rent is hell enough even with Clark helping him out, and he feels a sudden urge of envy for Tim. He wonders what it would be like to work a couple days a week in a tattoo shop, get off work at seven and get taxis anywhere he liked.

Tim shrugs. ‘I get by. I try not to waste it, but the family’s not in any need of money.’

‘Your parents got shares?’

Tim runs a hand through his hair, putting his feet up over the arm of the chair. ‘Something like that.’

He doesn’t offer any further information, and Conner doesn’t want to pry, so he quietly clears up the strewn petals and clippings and stuffs them in a charity bag. Tim is still watching him, and it makes him a little more self-conscious than he’s used to feeling. He thinks he likes it. It’s an odd feeling, definitely. He scoops up the rest of the clippings from the main table, turns off the lights out in the store cupboard and the back of the shop, and when he comes back into the main shop Tim is scrolling at something on his phone.

He looks up, seeing Conner. ‘Are you done for the night now? Thanks for having me, then.’

‘Are the trains back up?’ Conner walks over to the chair, leaning on the back of it and looking over Tim’s shoulder at the screen. Tim closes it quickly and shoves it in his pocket.

‘Should be soon, yeah. Not long I don’t think. Anyway, thanks.’ Tim moves to grab his jacket. Conner grabs his own and swipes his keys from the table.

‘I thought you said it was going to be ages?’ he says suddenly remembering what Tim had said before.

Tim blushes. Properly blushes, a blanket of red spreading all the way across his face and up to the tips of his ears. Conner briefly wonders if Tim is aware it’s happening.

‘I mean, maybe not within the next twenty minutes, but definitely soon I think.’

Conner gets his own phone out of his pocket, barely caring that it’s probably a good ten years older than Tim’s sleek model. The headlines are full of Gotham this Gotham that, and it’s not hard to find an article that mentions transport. Three hours at the minimum until trains are restored.

He looks up. Tim is at the door already, jacket on.

‘Nice seeing you again, anyway,’ Tim says, already twisting the door handle.

‘Wait,’ says Conner. Tim half-turns, face shrouded by his bangs.

‘Yeah?’

‘What’d you lie about it for? It says it’s going to be three hours minimum before trains are back.’

Tim says, in a much quieter voice, ‘Because I knew you’d worry, and then you’d think I’m being set back by booking a hotel, and to be honest you really don’t need to worry and I’m going to be fine.’

‘_ Aren’t _ you going to be set back by booking a hotel?’

‘Look, flower boy -’ Conner resists a smile at the nickname, ‘- I don’t think you’re really grasping how little a hotel for a night will affect my bank account. Like, barely at all. I didn’t say this before because I didn’t want to either offend you or seem like a total posh twat, but my family is really properly rich. Like, one percent rich.’

He turns and shoves open the door. Conner grabs his wrist without thinking, but he shakes it off.

‘Look, I’m sorry if I’ve upset you in whatever way, but I have really overstayed my welcome and I should probably go now.’

Conner reaches behind them, turning out the lights in the shop and leaving them in a strange grey mid-light, partially lit by streetlights and cars outside.

‘You didn’t let me finish,’ he says.

Tim raises an eyebrow, leaning back against the doorframe. He seems less stressed for a moment. ‘I didn’t?’

Conner shakes his head. ‘Not only is it going to be three hours, but pretty much every hotel in Metropolis is booked solid.’

‘Plot twist.’ Tim pushes open the door, and Conner locks it behind them. ‘So what do you propose, flower boy?’

Conner smiles despite himself. ‘I own a flat in Metropolis.’


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry they both take so long to get to the point. almost all the dialogue is unnecessary but i still love these boys and I hope you enjoy the final part!

‘No offense, flower boy, but your car is shite.’ ** **  
** **

‘No offense, Tim, but if you have to start a sentence with “no offense” then you’re probably being offensive.’ ** **  
** **

‘Yeah, but you can’t look me in the eyes and tell me your car isn’t shite.’ ** **  
** **

‘That’s only because I’m driving, though.’ ** **  
** **

Tim grumbles something under his breath and leans back further into the passenger seat. Conner’s car does actually have five seats, but the entire back of the car has been taken over with stuff from the flower shop, spare tyres, bags of garden waste and several of Jon’s school textbooks. The back window on the left side does not quite wind all the way up, which causes a permanent whistling noise in the back of the car and also means Conner always has the heating turned up full blast. ** **  
** **

‘It is  _ hot  _ in here,’ says Tim, trying to squirm out of his jacket in a way that looks uncomfortable. ** **  
** **

‘You could take the seatbelt off, just for a second,’ says Conner, trying to keep his eyes on the road. ** **  
** **

‘That’s not proper road safety. I’m not convinced you’re the best at driving.’ ** **  
** **

‘I passed my driver’s test first try. I think you’re stereotyping me.’ ** **  
** **

Tim sighs and finally manages to peel the jacket off. ‘Conner, you’re doing thirty in a fifty zone.’ ** **  
** **

‘The car doesn’t like going over forty.’ ** **  
** **

‘I can tell.’ The car makes an unusual whining noise every time Conner pulls away from traffic lights. ‘How many gears have you got? Two? Three?’ ** **  
** **

‘What car have  _ you  _ got then, Tim?’ ** **  
** **

‘I don’t drive,’ says Tim, pouting. ‘There’s no point, living in Gotham. I’d never use the car.’ ** **  
** **

‘You could just get a shitbox and only use it now and then.’ ** **  
** **

‘What, is your car for sale?’ ** **  
** **

‘Don’t be mean. My car does the job.’ ** **  
** **

‘Your car is yellow. It’s obnoxious. I didn’t think people even really drove yellow cars unless it was for a style thing. You know, where people drive deliberately ugly things that cost an extortionate amount of money, and it’s cool because they have so much money they can buy ugly shit and not even feel bad about it.’ ** **  
** **

Conner chooses to ignore the majority of the remark. ‘My car isn’t yellow. It’s mustard.’ ** **  
** **

‘Custard, more like.’ Conner attempts to retort, but Tim cuts him off. ‘You said your place is in Metropolis, and I swear we must be halfway to Bludhaven by now.’ ** **  
** **

‘It’s a slow day for traffic, okay?’ ** **  
** **

‘Only because you’re on the roads. Public enemy number two, probably.’ ** **  
** **

‘Who’s number one?’ ** **  
** **

‘Damian.’ ** **  
** **

* ** **  
** **

Despite Tim’s joking, it actually is a pretty slow day for traffic. It’s easily another twenty minutes before they reach Conner’s apartment, nestled in some kind of limbo between Metropolis centre and the outskirts. ** **  
** **

Conner parks the car and they stumble out into the cold air, Tim shrugging his jacket back on. Conner fumbles with his keys and eventually gets them in, and then they have to climb three flights of stairs because the lift is out of order again. ** **  
** **

‘Damn,’ says Tim, panting slightly but easily keeping up, ‘this must be why you’re in such good shape.’ ** **  
** **

Conner flushes slightly. At least he can blame it on the exercise. ** **  
** **

He thinks Tim is about to say something else, but then they’re on Conner’s floor and suddenly the moment is lost. He can’t help but look over his shoulder at Tim, though, his hair in his eyes and a half-smile caught on his lips as he follows Conner. ** **  
** **

* ** **  
** **

‘Too small for your princely needs?’ says Conner, only half-joking. Tim is looking around the apartment with some kind of curiosity Conner can’t determine as pity or interest. ** **  
** **

Tim looks around himself, surprised. ‘It’s - it’s not much smaller than my place in Gotham, actually. I have less flowers, though.’ ** **  
** **

Conner can’t help but flush a little. Tim must think he’s really committed to his job, but in reality he just really loves flowers. They are everywhere in the flat, sprawled over the edges in hanging baskets, dried and hung on the walls, fresh on the table and the kitchen counter. It makes the place smell good, and he likes how it’s cheerful. He hopes Tim doesn’t think he’s weird. It seems like a strangely private thing now, inviting the mysterious tattoo shop boy into his own flat. Out of all the places in the world, this little flat is where Conner feels the most at home, and it feels like he’s turned his brain inside out for Tim’s viewing now. ** **  
** **

‘I could sort you some flowers if you wanted,’ Conner says, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck. He feels awkward just standing around, but he’s also waiting for Tim to sit down first so it doesn’t seem awkward. ** **  
** **

‘That’d be cool. We’d have to pick a date where Gotham isn’t being a hellscape, so I can actually get them home before they all die.’ ** **  
** **

To Conner’s relief, Tim takes a seat on the sofa. Conner sits beside him. Their legs almost touch - the sofa is kind of small, bought from a charity place, and Conner is not a small guy. And despite being pretty small himself, Tim manages to take up over half of the seat in an inelegant sprawl. ** **  
** **

‘Your sofa’s dead comfy,’ says Tim, and yawns. ** **  
** **

Conner realises it is actually quite late already. He’s not really sure what the rules on adult sleepovers are. Are you meant to stay up past two a.m. playing truth or dare, or be in bed before eleven? Maybe he could Google it. ** **  
** **

‘Have you eaten yet?’ he says, standing up again so he can feel busy and going to examine the contents of the fridge. ** **  
** **

‘Yeah. Jason only keeps Red Bull, pretzels and cheese at the tattoo shop, so I tend to bring my own food. Have you?’ ** **  
** **

Conner nods. ‘I had a sandwich.’ ** **  
** **

‘Want me to get takeout?’ Tim’s already pulled his phone out, typing away. ** **  
** **

‘Really. You don’t have to.’ ** **  
** **

‘You’re letting me stay round. D’you like pizza?’ ** **  
** **

‘I don’t have the cash to pay you back, seriously, just don’t bother -’ ** **  
** **

‘You can finish mine, then. I don’t eat much. You like pineapple?’ ** **  
** **

‘Yeah.’ ** **  
** **

‘Weirdo.’ Tim taps at something else, then tosses his phone onto the coffee table and stands up. ‘Where’s your bathroom?’ ** **  
** **

Conner points him in the right direction, then sits back down on the sofa and realises belatedly that he doesn’t actually have a spare bed. He’s going to have to inflate an air mattress or some shit. This is turning out to be more complicated than he’d predicted. ** **  
** **

On the table, Tim’s phone buzzes aggressively, and Conner checks the screen before he can stop himself. The contact reads  _ Bruce. _ ** **  
** **

He shouldn’t answer it. He should wait for Tim. ** **  
** **

The phone stops buzzing after what seems like an eternity. ** **  
** **

Then a text flashes up:  _ Please can you answer your phone Tim _ ** **  
** **

Then it buzzes again, and Conner picks it up. ** **  
** **

‘Hello?’ he says. ** **  
** **

The other voice is a deep, crackly Gotham drawl. ‘Hello, who is this?’ ** **  
** **

‘Um, I’m Conner.’ Conner glances around for any sign of Tim. ** **  
** **

‘Well, hello Conner. Do you know where Tim is?’ The other guy - Bruce - seems kinda impatient. Conner half-expects him to just hang up. ** **  
** **

‘Uh, he’s - he’s here. Not in the room, but here.’ ** **  
** **

‘And where is here, Conner?’ ** **  
** **

‘Metropolis. The, uh - the trains are down. Again. He was going to stay here, I think -’ ** **  
** **

Bruce cuts him off. ‘Okay. That’s fine. Please don’t be too offended, but I would like to speak to Tim as soon as possible to make sure you haven’t done anything to him.’ ** **  
** **

‘I haven’t,’ says Conner, before realising that’s probably what a criminal would say. ** **  
** **

‘I’m sure you haven’t -’ Conner detects a hint of sarcasm, ‘- but I would still like to hear from Tim.’ ** **  
** **

Tim appears through the door at the crucial moment. ‘Everything alright?’ he says. Conner practically tosses the phone at him. ** **  
** **

‘Bruce?’ Tim says. ‘Fine, yeah. I’m fine. No. No, he’s - we’ve met. I’m not being abducted. Yeah, promise. Tell Jason - yeah, okay. Night. Night. Love you.’ ** **  
** **

Tim hangs up and tosses the phone back onto the coffee table, then reclaims his seat next to Conner. ** **  
** **

‘Is that your dad?’ says Conner. It seems kind of unlikely given that Tim’s calling him by his first name, but the guy sounds too old to be a boyfriend. At least, Conner hopes. ** **  
** **

‘Sugar daddy,’ says Tim in such a deadpan voice that Conner believes him for a moment. Then he bursts out laughing and Conner is hugely relieved. ** **  
** **

‘He’s my dad,’ says Tim, still grinning. ‘Sorry. Well, not exactly my dad, but close enough. Father figure, whatever you like.’ ** **  
** **

‘Are you - I mean, sorry if this is an awkward question, but - are you adopted?’ ** **  
** **

Conner regrets the words as soon as they’re out of his mouth, but strangely Tim doesn’t seem too taken aback. ** **  
** **

‘Yeah, I am,’ he says. ‘Did the millions of brothers give it away?’ He pauses, turning half-away from Conner. ‘Sorry. You’re going to think I’m weird now.’ ** **  
** **

‘No, no, it’s fine.’ Conner’s surprised at the confidence he’s talking with. ‘I mean, me too, kind of. I don’t - I don’t know who my dad is, exactly. I live with Clark who’s probably my dad but then there’s also Lex who also might be.’ ** **  
** **

‘Two dads. That’s cool.’ ** **  
** **

‘Yeah, it’s no wonder I’m -’ ** **  
** **

Conner catches himself just in time, heart skipping uncomfortably. ** **  
** **

* ** **  
** **

‘God, I’m tired,’ says Tim, leaning back into the airbed. Conner has had to repair several punctures in the stupid piece of rubber in order to get it inflated, and it’s taken him way longer than he’d originally anticipated. ** **  
** **

‘Go to bed, then,’ Conner says, stifling a yawn himself. ‘I’ll turn the lights out. Sorry.’ ** **  
** **

‘If you’re working, I don’t mind,’ says Tim, pulling his jacket over his head. Conner’s been wary to retreat back to his own bedroom, partly because it feels like abandoning Tim and partly because he actually has work to do. ** **  
** **

‘Sorry. I won’t be long,’ says Conner, trying desperately to type at the speed of light in order to keep his promise. He sees Tim smile and tries not to flush. ** **  
** **

Three emails later, he’s barely made a dent in registering orders and working on accounts, but it’s getting late and he really does not want to keep Tim up. He half-closes the laptop, wincing at the blue light, and glances over at Tim. ** **  
** **

‘Seriously, I don’t mind if you’re still working.’ Conner can just make out Tim’s muffled voice from beneath multiple blankets and his jacket. ** **  
** **

Conner responds to one more email. Then he decides to rest his eyes for just one minute. ** **  
** **

* ** **  
** **

He wakes up bleary-eyed and stiff-jointed. He’s been sitting weirdly and his neck is sore. He checks the time on his laptop, but barely an hour has passed. He closes the laptop, yawns, and stands up to stretch his legs. He can still see the faint blue light of Tim’s phone. ** **  
** **

Tim rolls over, blinking up at Conner. His hair is in his eyes, and he suddenly looks much younger. The light is dim, grainy, giving his face a strange look reminiscent of an old black and white movie. ‘I thought you’d gone to sleep.’ ** **  
** **

‘I thought  _ you _ would’ve.’  ** **  
** **

Tim shuffles over on the airbed and Conner sits beside him, yawning and dragging his fingers through his hair.  ** **  
** **

‘The trains must be up by now,’ Conner says, reluctantly. ‘If you - I mean, if you really can’t get any sleep, I could drive you to the station and you could just go home. Sorry.’ ** **  
** **

Tim shakes his head, chewing his bottom lip. ‘It’s not you, don’t worry. I shouldn’t have said I’d stay over. I knew I’d end up keeping you up.’ He turns away from Conner, but Conner leans in closer. ** **  
** **

‘It’s fine,’ he says. ‘Really, it’s fine. I don’t mind. You weren’t to know.’ ** **  
** **

Tim still shakes his head. ‘I did. I’m, like, low-key insomniac. This happens all the time.’ ** **  
** **

‘That’s still not your fault, though.’ ** **  
** **

Tim lies back down on the airbed, stretching out and sighing. ‘I guess.’ ** **  
** **

Conner is almost scared to probe him further. Whatever they have, whatever strange barely-met half-friendship they have, Conner does not want to screw it up. He likes Tim. He really does. ** **  
** **

He inhales, and says quietly, ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’ ** **  
** **

Tim rolls over, facing away from Conner. His voice is muffled when he speaks. ‘No. I should just go home.’ ** **  
** **

‘I’ll drive you,’ says Conner, reaching to give Tim his jacket. ** **  
** **

‘I’ll get a taxi. Really. You’ve done enough.’ He sounds smaller, voice weaker and without the casual snark Conner had become familiar with. ** **  
** **

‘I’m sorry,’ says Conner, surprised when his voice catches. ‘I hope - I mean, I didn’t want to upset you.’ ** **  
** **

‘Fuck,’ says Tim, getting up on his elbows and finally looking at Conner. ‘No, you have not upset me. You’ve - you’ve been great. Really. I’m sorry I’ve been such a shitty guest. I just - look, I don’t meet many people.’ ** **  
** **

Conner manages a half-smile. ‘Gotham’s such a small town, right?’ ** **  
** **

‘Oh, piss off.’ The corners of Tim’s mouth twitch. ‘I just don’t meet that many new people, like, with my family and all. And even when I do, it’s only ever for business. I don’t really know how to talk to people in a non-formal way.’ ** **  
** **

‘Are you really that posh?’ says Conner. ‘I mean, I get that you’re probably a hell of a lot richer than I am, but I didn’t think you were, like, super rich. Business really booming that much in the tattoo shop?’ ** **  
** **

Tim bites his lip. ‘Conner, I don’t actually work in the tattoo shop. I just go over there to see Jason sometimes.’ ** **  
** **

Conner turns it over in his head. ‘I kind of figured,’ he says, surprising himself. ** **  
** **

‘I just tell people that - I just say it so I sound a bit more normal.’ ** **  
** **

‘What’s your real job, then?’ says Conner. ‘How abnormal can it get? Wait,’ he says, grinning, ‘don’t tell me you’re a stripper.’ ** **  
** **

Tim gives him a half-hearted punch in the arm, grinning. ‘I am  _ not  _ a stripper, you twat. I have a corporate job.’ ** **  
** **

‘Boring,’ says Conner. ‘I don’t know jack about anything corporate.’ ** **  
** **

‘Bet if I told you where I work, you’d recognise it.’ ** **  
** **

Conner shakes his head. ‘Bet I wouldn’t.’ ** **  
** **

‘You would. Think Gotham. What’s the first thing that comes into your head?’ ** **  
** **

Conner considers it. ‘Scary architecture? You work on buildings?’ ** **  
** **

‘Seriously, you are having a laugh.’ ** **  
** **

‘I don’t know. Really. Trains always being down? The GCPD? I don’t see you as a policeman.’ ** **  
** **

Tim blinks. ‘Seriously. Think Gotham. Think corporations. What do you think?’ ** **  
** **

Conner has no idea. ** **  
** **

‘Seriously, not Wayne Enterprises?’ ** **  
** **

‘You work at Wayne Enterprises?’ ** **  
** **

Tim groans over-dramatically, flinging an arm over his face. ‘I knew you’d think it was weird.’ ** **  
** **

‘No, seriously, what’s Wayne Enterprises?’ ** **  
** **

‘Bruce Wayne’s company. I’m acting CEO. Bruce is technically in charge but I sort most of it out since he’s always busy.’ ** **  
** **

Conner pauses. ‘Is it bad if I don’t know who Bruce Wayne is?’ ** **  
** **

Tim shuffles closer to sit next to him, nestling into his shoulder. Conner could probably rest his chin on Tim’s head if he wanted to, and the thought makes his heart beat a little faster. Tim pulls out his phone, searching something. ** **  
** **

‘That’s Bruce,’ he says, pointing at a page of glossy paparazzi images. ** **  
** **

Bruce - was it the same Bruce who called Conner earlier? - is a man in his forties probably, but not looking bad for them. He’s dark-haired, blue-eyed, well-built. Conner has a vague memory of possibly seeing him on the news before, but nothing clear. ** **  
** **

‘That’s Bruce,’ Conner echoes. ** **  
** **

Tim looks up at him, clearly trying to gauge his reaction. ‘I can’t tell if you’re messing with me.’ ** **  
** **

‘I was raised on a farm,’ says Conner, by way of apology. ** **  
** **

‘More like raised in a barn.’ ** **  
** **

‘Is that guy your dad?’ says Conner, looking at the images again. ** **  
** **

‘Adoptive. But yeah.’ ** **  
** **

In one of the pictures, Conner actually recognises Tim. Bruce Wayne is standing with maybe four or five dark-haired children. He recognises the tall one with a white streak in his hair as the guy who owns the tattoo shop, standing with a guy who could almost be Bruce Wayne’s twin without the slight curl in his hair and goofy smile. There is a short girl of maybe Asian descent, hair in a short bob, a scowling boy with tan skin, and finally Tim, bangs in his eyes and dimples in his cheeks. ** **  
** **

‘You look good in a suit,’ he says to Tim. ** **  
** **

Tim makes a dismissive noise. ‘Everyone does with the right tailor.’ ** **  
** **

‘No, but seriously. You do.’ ** **  
** **

Tim rubs the back of his neck and yawns, ducking away from Conner. Conner sits back himself. He wonders if Tim was aware how close they’d been. ** **  
** **

‘Shit,’ says Tim, and Conner’s unsure if he’s talking to himself. ** **  
** **

‘You alright?’ ** **  
** **

‘Yeah, I just didn’t realise it was already three am. Sorry. God, I really am keeping you up.’ ** **  
** **

‘I really don’t mind,’ says Conner. ** **  
** **

‘You should probably just go back to bed. You must be tired.’ ** **  
** **

‘I think you’re projecting,’ says Conner, smiling. Tim rolls his eyes. ‘You never did tell me if there’s anything I could do to help, though.’ ** **  
** **

‘Yeah, well.’ Tim glances away from Conner. ‘I wouldn’t - I wouldn’t expect you to do anything. I’ll be fine.’ ** **  
** **

‘So there is something I could do.’ ** **  
** **

Tim’s cheeks flush. ‘No, you don’t have to do anything. I shouldn’t have mentioned it.’ ** **  
** **

‘Don’t make me google stuff because it will keep me up twice as long.’ ** **  
** **

‘Is this blackmail?’ Tim’s old smirk seems to have returned. ** **  
** **

‘Yes. You going to tell me or no?’ ** **  
** **

Tim inhales deeply. ‘Some nights - god, I shouldn’t be saying this to you. We just met.’ He looks up at Conner, then back down at the steadily deflating airbed. ‘Some nights, just - just human contact. It helps. At home, me and my brothers all sleep together in Bruce’s massive bed. I have, like, separation anxiety. Like a dog.’ ** **  
** **

‘That’s still totally valid,’ says Conner. ‘I mean, I could just put a film on and we could, like, sit on the sofa together. Would that be fine?’ ** **  
** **

Tim takes so long to respond that Conner almost thinks he’s said the wrong thing. But there’s real, heartfelt emotion in his voice when he finally speaks. ** **  
** **

‘That would be great. Thank - thank you so much.’ ** **  
** **

* ** **  
** **

They’ve barely finished the Disney Fast Play before they’re both asleep in a tangle of limbs, breathing soft and even and together.


End file.
